Friday, August 13, 2010

From the moment of the Cashman trade, The Master's deliberations began. He needed to work quickly, efficiently, artfully. Silence was no option. A home run could come in the first week, the first day or even the first 15 minutes -- yes, in just enough time to save up to 15 percent on car insurance.

So he took pen in hand, walked to the park and began plowing the north 40 of his fertile mind, searching to plant the seed that would one-day bloom into the perfect, full-pedaled, sweet-smelling, 6-foot-high Austin Kearns' HR call.

O, to have been there!

Surely, he started with a rapid-fire cacophany of free-association word niblets, rooted from the family name, exploding across the grassy lawn like fireworks over a Topeka strip mall.

It's a home run climax of As the World Kearns.

It's a blockbuster French opening at the Kearns Film Festival.

A four-scoop ice cream Kearns.

Wearily, he set down his No. 2 point pencil, closed the notepad and pressed his fingers against his overheated forehead. O, this was a thorny one. Text messages were simple. A-bombs were easy. Hell, David Cone could say "A Ribbie from Robbie." But Kearns...

A home run beer served in all-aluminum Kearns.

Congratulations, and many happy reKearns.

What would Carol King do? Did she run into a problem on Smackwater Jack and quit the Tapestry project? Hell, no. He began working Austin.

That ball just cleared Austin's city limits!

Hey, everybody, let's serve Austin cream pie!

What about the actress, Pamela Austin? You just nailed Pamela, Austin! No. He'd leave the blue material to Michael Kay. He kepted working. He mediated. He studied words the way King Kong played with transit buses. He sifted. He panned for broadcast gold. And then, the flash of inspiration -- like a pop-up ad for a gaming site -- occurred.